


The Decision

by Michaella1996



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-01 06:10:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaella1996/pseuds/Michaella1996
Summary: The night before Martin is due to be arrested, he wrestles with a decision.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After last night’s episode I had to write this, I haven’t decided whether to leave it as a one shot or to make it a two shot. Let me know what you think!

A gentle breeze blew through the neighborhood that night, a still settling outside in the streets, everyone asleep. Dr. Martin Whitly stared out the window, contemplating the events of the day. Poor Malcolm had been so scared out of his wits, had called the cops on him, that just wouldn’t do, his boy needed to learn proper respect, but that would all come in due time. 

In the glass he saw the faint silhouette of Jessica sleeping soundly, a sedative added to her evening gin. His beautiful wife would end up drinking herself in an early grave if she kept it up. He knew the past few months - well _ years really if he was being honest- _ had been taking its toll on her. She suspected he had an affair, but the real reason was _ so much more delicious. _ The idea was almost laughable, as if he’d ever need another woman when Jessica was so perfect, beautiful, and strong. No, sleeping with another woman was the last thing on his mind.

Sometimes however, in the quiet nights like this, he imagined killing her too, oh how she’d fight, scream, and curse him, but it would be so satisfying to run a knife down her front and see if her insides were as pretty as the outsides. He never acted on these tendencies though, oh no, they had to remain firmly in his head as just that- a fantasy. Not that he couldn’t get away with it, no that would be far too simple, but he knew it would hurt his children. 

_ Malcolm and Ainsley _ . While the affection he felt for their mother was strained at best, the adoration he had for his wonderful children was all too real, and all too vulnerable for his tastes. The day Malcolm was born he expected to feel _ something, _although at the time he wasn’t sure what, but after 10 grueling hours of labor, his son, his perfect wonderful son was placed in his arms and Martin knew that for the first time in his life he had a weakness, it was simultaneously mesmerizing and horrifying.

Then again, he really shouldn’t have been that surprised, he had always had great pride in the things he created, and having a _ life _he created, well that was even better. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that the implications began to set in. It started when Jessica was trying to change him and he kept crying and screaming and thrashing about, making it almost impossible to do so. 

Wanting the noise to stop, Martin walked in the room, prepared to make a rude comment about her less than stellar parenting skills. The second Malcolm laid eyes on him, he began to quiet down, replacing his cries with a gentle cooing. Jessica laughed and looked up at him,

“Well he’s stubborn like his Father, that’s for sure. I can already tell he’ll take after you.” The statement had seemed innocuous to her, but suddenly his whole paradigm shifted. He had imagined his whole life that he’d live a double life, using his family as a front while he pursued more entertaining endeavors, but if his son took after him, maybe he could have a protege, someone to teach everything he knew to. He could practically see it, him and his son standing side by side, covered in blood, exploring the limitations of the human body, understanding the way they worked. His heart leapt with joy at the thought. 

As Malcolm grew older, those words continued to ring true, as his friends became interested in bikes and uncivilized rolling around in the dirt, he was fascinated with books, and with his father. The boy adored him, always needing him around, something Martin had never experienced before. This tiny life depended on him completely.

Everything changed when Jessica announced she was pregnant with another baby- a girl this time. Ainsley came, and she was beautiful, perfect in a different way. She seemed so innocent, so _ small _ from the day she was born, and Martin knew he loved her too. It was different than the way he loved Malcolm, after all he was a narcissist and Malcolm **was him,** so of course he loved him entirely. Ainsley-well she had always been more of a bird in a gilded cage, something to be admired and protected, but from afar. He didn’t want to taint her with his world of darkness.

Martin continued to stare out the window, reflecting on what he was about to do. Malcolm, his ever clever-_ too clever _ \- son, had called the cops on him. He had been downstairs, ready to make a phone call himself as he overheard the conversation. Oh his boy, he was growing up into a fine young man, but he needed to learn respect, needed to _ understand _what Martin was doing. He wanted to give his son a more gradual exposure to his new reality, but his curiosity got the better of him and he found that damn girl in the box.

Hands shaking with rage, Martin willed himself to remain calm. Malcolm was just a boy after all, he might be frightened of him now, but he still idolized Martin, he was just confused as to what was right and what was wrong. Martin ran a hand through his hair, he needed to take control of the situation before it escalated out of his control. With a final glance at Jessica, he kneeled down and grabbed his packed duffel bag, hauling it out of the room and down to the garage. 

He needed to make this quick, time was of the utmost importance now that he had begun. He snuck upstairs and went into Ainsley's room. Her petite form was curled up under her princess blankets and Martin felt a pang of guilt, _ could he really take her too? A life on the run was fine for him and Malcolm but little Ainsley got carsick if they were gone more than a half hour _. He looked down at his little princess and with a heavy heart he bent down and gave her a kiss on the forehead and whispered,

_ “As soon as we’re settled I’ll come back for you Sweetheart, I promise.” _

She smiled and rolled over in her sleep, muttering something about unicorns. He eased out of her room and went into Malcolm’s. He too was sleeping soundly, thanks to the help of a light dose of chloroform. Martin quickly packed him a bag and walked over to the bed. He put one arm under his knees and the other under his arms, almost cradling him like when he was younger. Martin rolled his eyes when he noticed how light he was; Malcolm had always been on the small side, but this was ridiculous, a 12 year old should not be able to be mistaken for an 8 year old.

He moved down the stairs as fast as he could and strapped Malcolm in the front seat of the car. He raced back inside to grab his wallet and the keys when a soft sound interrupted him.

“Daddy?” Ainsley said with a yawn at the top of the stairs, hair sticking in every direction. Martin looked up at her, his heart heavy.

“Yes Princess?” She yawned again and walked downstairs, coming up to him,

“Where are you and Malcolm going?” He bit back a groan, of course she saw him grab Malcolm.

“We’re going on a trip sweetheart, don’t worry, you’ll be coming soon too.” She nodded and held her arms up so Martin could pick her up. She snuggled into his chest and yawned a third time,

“Daddy? Please don’t go, I get really sad when you leave, and if Mal isn’t here, who am I going to play with?” Martin’s heart broke, of course his sweet innocent daughter would put it into such simple logic. Mind racing, trying to come up with a new plan, he took her back upstairs and tucked her into bed,

“Don’t worry princess, We’re not going anywhere.” She fell back asleep almost instantly. Martin walked back down the stairs and began to pace. Leaving would hurt both Malcolm _ and _Ainsley, which is what he had spent his life trying to avoid; but on the other hand, staying meant he’d get arrested. 

Martin wasn’t someone who was normally so conflicted about...well anything really. He made a decision and stuck with it. He walked back out to the car and got in the driver’s seat. It would be so easy to start the car, drive off, and never look back. He could start a new life with him and his son, he even had fake passports and birth certificates ready. It would be so simple, it would take hardly any effort; but as he looked at his peacefully sleeping son he felt a wave of guilt. 

Malcolm would be in a lot of pain because of this, he’d lose all of the connections he made at school (not that there were many friends, but he enjoyed his teachers) and he would miss his mother and sister. Martin had made it a point to avoid anything that caused his son pain. 

He remembered when that all started; Malcolm had been two years old, walking all around creation, jibber jabbering nonsensically. He had been adorable; wispy brown hair all over the place. He followed Martin around the house like a puppy, always wanting to be by his side. Whenever he went to work Malcolm would resort to being with Jessica and cuddle up with her on the couch while she coordinated whatever charity event they were handling at the time. The poor boy was such an affectionate child, always requiring some physical contact to remain content. 

One day while he was in the middle of a triple bypass surgery, the phone in the OR rang. One of the scrub nurses went over to answer it, and Martin continued his stitching. A few moments passed as the nurse whispered on the phone,

“Camilla!” He exclaimed, “Is that Jeremy letting us know he has more O neg blood, I’d like to hang another quarter liter before closing if at all possible” Camilla pulled away from the phone,

“Dr. Whitly?” Her tone made him pause and he looked up, “There’s been an incident, your son is downstairs in the ER.” Martin froze, his blood running cold. _ What had happened to his boy? _

“Dr. Jones,” he said carefully, turning to his resident, “You’re familiar with this procedure, please close up while I go check on my son.” Dr. Jones nodded and several moments later Martin was pulling off his head lamp and gloves, racing down the familiar halls, all of the worst case scenarios running through his head. _ What if Malcolm fell down the stairs and broke his neck? Or got hit by a bus? Or accidentally impaled himself on those ornate art pieces Jessica insisted on having in every room? What if he needed surgery? _ ** _Oh God, What if he was dead?_ **

The thought stopped Martin in his tracks. _ Oh God. What if his perfect son, his little Malcolm was dead? _ His small brown haired, grubby handed shadow, might not exist anymore. The thought made his heart pound and his palms sweat. With a renewed vigor, he raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time, passing people in a blur, he needed to get to his son, needed to hold him and comfort him. 

He burst out of the doors to the ER, causing everyone to look up at him. Jessica was pacing in the corner of the room, a curtain drawn around one of the beds. Jessica ran up to him, tears in her eyes, and flung herself into his arms. Biting back the rising anger at her, _ protecting Malcolm was her _ ** _one_ ** _ job, _ he played the doting husband and father,

“What happened darling? Where is he?!” She but back a sob,

“He fell on the fireplace and hit his forehead, oh Martin, there was _ so much blood _ !” She cried, wrapping her arms around his waist. He disentangled himself from her and flung the curtain back. Malcolm was laying in the middle of the bed, ** _God he was so tiny,_ ** a resident cleaning his forehead. When he saw Martin he whimpered and reached out a hand,

“_ Daddy” _ he whimpered. Martin’s heart broke at the sound, his poor boy.

“Adams,” he growled, “how were his scans?” 

“Well, um-“ the doddering fool mumbled, “No internal bleeding, no cracked skull, at most he needs some stitches and monitoring for a concussion.” Martin nodded, leaning forward and grabbing the chart out of his hands.

“Get me a suture kit, have you at least given him some anesthesia? For God sake Adams, he’s a child.” The resident scampered off, typically he tried not to bully them too much but Adams was a complete buffoon, and there was no way he’d let him touch his precious son. Martin sat down next to Malcolm, who reached out a hand to him. Smiling, Martin brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. “It’s okay son, I’ll take care of you.” Malcolm nodded and looked at him with eyes full of tears. He had taken the following few days off, monitoring him closely, not wanting to let him out of his sight. From that day onward, Martin used every method he had to make sure that Malcolm never got hurt again.

Yet...here he was almost 10 years later, about to cause his son irreversible emotional pain. _ What the hell was he supposed to do? _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I know I haven’t responded to all of the reviews yet but I read every one of them as they come through and they make my day! Every time I read one it makes me dive back into writing, you all are amazing!!!! It’s because of you I decided to continue this, I was going to leave it as a one shot but the response was so great!
> 
> I think I finally settled on a direction for this, so let me know what you think!

The sound of a door slamming woke Malcolm up, he blearily blinked his eyes opened and realized he was in his Dad’s car. Head pounding, he glanced around. In her booster seat next to him, Ainsley was also sleeping, and in the front seat his Mom was too. Frowning, he looked outside,  _ Mom never slept in the car, she said it messed her hair up, _ they were at a gas station, sun shining brightly down on them.

His Dad was pumping gas, dressed in his typical cable knit red sweater. Something was missing. As he continued to look around, he realized they were outside of the city; the buildings had been replaced by trees and there wasn’t a constant thrum of sound. He unbuckled and leaned up, tapping his mom on the shoulder.

“Mom? Where are we?” She snored in response and her head lulled to the side. He frowned,  _ she was still in pajamas, she never left the house without proper clothing. _ It was a pride point of hers to always look perfect, something she impressed on them as well. 

Looking down he realized both he and Ainsley were in pajamas too.  _ Something was wrong. _ He couldn’t remember anything though. The last thing he could find in his memory was coming home from school. Were they going somewhere for the weekend? It wasn’t unusual for him to wake up in odd places, his mom always joked that he slept like a log, but for both Ainsley and his mom to also be out something must be off. 

Ainsley began to snore, her blonde hair in a mess everywhere, and Malcolm giggled, she had a funny snore. A few moments later his dad hung up the pump and got back in the car, humming under his breath.

“Dad?” He asked, voice hoarse. “Where are we going?” His dad started and turned around, smiling widely.

“Malcolm my boy! You’re up! We’re just going on a little family trip for a bit, but we’ll talk more about it when we get there, why don’t you go back to sleep?” Vision blurry from the migraine, Malcolm shook his head, something was wrong. He racked his brain, trying to remember what happened. 

“Why is Mother sleeping?” His dad sighed, and started the car up.

“We left so early this morning that you were all so tired, I didn’t want to wake any of you.” Malcolm frowned, that didn’t sound right. In a rush, Malcolm flashed back to himself on the phone.

“We’re running aren’t we Dad?” His dad looked at him in the rear view mirror.

“Now what makes you think that?”

“Because I called the cops on you.”

“Well, we’ll talk more about that later my boy. I have to admit I wasn’t thrilled, but we worked it all out last night when they came to visit. Now Malcolm, what makes you think I hurt anyone?” Malcolm paused, trying to remember. He knew there was a reason, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember, if only the pounding in his head would stop, maybe he could remember.

“I’m...I’m not sure. Why can’t I remember? What’s going on?” He asked, panicking, looking to his father for help. His dad shook his head dismissively,

“Oh Malcolm, I’m not angry, I’m just worried about you, you seem to be disconnecting from reality recently, that’s why we’re going away. Your mother and I decided that the best thing for you was for us to spend time as a family.” Malcolm frowned, it made sense, but it  _ felt wrong. _

“So what about Mom? She never sleeps in the car and she never leaves the house in PJs” His dad put his hand to his face, he usually did that when he was upset.

“We left in a hurry Malcolm, she had drank a lot and I thought that if she ended up throwing up she’d rather do it in pajamas than one of her dresses.” Now  _ that _ Malcolm could believe, his mom did drink a lot, especially once Ainsley was born.

“What about school?” His teacher was supposed to give him a new book to read tomorrow,  _ catcher in the Rye,  _ now he wouldn’t have it. The thought made him sad.

“Well, I’m going to be home schooling you from now on, I’ve been spending too much time at the hospital and I want to make sure you’re learning properly.”

“But what about-“

“ _ Malcolm.”  _ His Dad snapped. Malcolm stopped talking, he didn’t like it when his dad used his scary voice. Noticing his expression, his dad sighed and softened his tone, “Please just go back to sleep, my boy, we’ll talk about everything when we get there.” He nodded, his dad was right, as always; and he was starting to get sleepy again, the headache was not going away. 

He hated upsetting his dad but he couldn’t help it if he was curious, normally when he asked questions his dad would smile and ruffle his hair and say “that’s my boy, always so clever and curious- we’re the same aren’t we?” And Malcolm would always nod excitedly- he wanted to be just like his dad when he got older.

“D-Dad?” He asked, yawning as they began to move, his dad sighed angrily;

“Yes?” He huffed.

“C-can you tell me the bones again?” Most kids liked hearing stories to fall asleep, but he had always loved when his dad talked about anatomy, it always made him feel smarter, knowing the actual term for things. Also, whenever he asked, his dad got this really big smile on his face, and Malcolm felt like he was doing something right. His dad chuckled and He knew he wasn’t mad at him anymore,  _ he hated when Dad was mad.  _

“Of course my boy! Feet or hands first?” He asked, Malcolm grinned sleepily,

“Feet!” He exclaimed with a yawn,

“Well we start with the phalanges, and then we have the tarsals and metatarsals, then we have the tibia and fibula, what comes next?”

“T-the Patella!” Malcolm said, yawning again. His dad laughed and said,

“Good job son! Then there’s the femur…” Malcolm was out before his Dad could even get to the xiphoid process. He dreamt of skeletons riding sheep and jumping over the moon.


End file.
